Author's Note: Long chapter this time. (I combined two entries on LJ, in case you're wondering about the length). Enjoy!

Mrs. Beakley tossed and turned on the gurney; Dewey had gotten the other SHUSH agents there in time, but they had needed to withdraw. Webby had disappeared and their objective had failed. It was a loss either way, and Mrs. Beakley would need to be monitored closely. They still didn't know what had poisoned her, but it didn't seem to be fast acting. Her occasional gasps unnerved Dewey and had sobered the rest of them. Dewey feared it meant organ failure.

They had huddled on the plane back and Dewey stared at his phone. Had this been a trick? Had Webby intended for them to suffer losses and end up retreating? Was she really working for FOWL and that glimpse he'd seen of her was just good acting? She'd poisoned her grandmother, which argued that it was, but she hadn't given her an instant death poison, which either meant she wanted Beakley to suffer or she didn't want her to die and was hoping someone would produce an antidote in time.

He'd seen the tears in her eyes. Why was she doing this? What could she hope to gain from it? She wasn't evil. He remained convinced of that. Whatever she was, however, could be malicious enough that it didn't matter. He sighed, resting his head against the window.

It reminded him of a line in a book he'd read a while back. "Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same." He felt that way about Webby. She was a kindred spirit, but he couldn't prove it. He couldn't do anything about it. Damn it, why hadn't she come with them? She should be here, on this plane, talking to him and her grandmother. Not...wherever she'd gone after she'd fled.

That was another thing. Why had she attacked Mrs. Beakley and then run away? If she were really a FOWL agent, wouldn't she have wanted to see if the poison took? He groaned, pulling at his face. He had no idea what she was playing at.

Gosalyn sat next to him and poked at him. He ignored her. Instead, he stared down at his called list; Webby's number came up as "restricted", which didn't help. Nonetheless, his finger hovered over the redial button. He didn't know what would happen if you tried to redial a restricted number. Would it go through? Or not?

A quick Google search told him dialing *69 would redial it, but not yield the phone number. He couldn't risk calling her in the air, despite how badly he wanted to know the answers to his questions.

His brothers would think he was being stupid and maybe he was. Maybe he ought to give up on this. But Webby...he had the feeling he should have known her. That he should've been close to her. He released a jagged breath. He couldn't give up on her.

She could have given up on herself. Maybe that was the answer. Maybe her tears had been the result of releasing the last bit of decency she'd had left before slicing at her grandmother. He sighed, unable or unwilling to stow the phone. They'd been so close, so agonizingly close.

Webs…

What had they done wrong? Would they be able to find her a second time? She wasn't going to call him and tell him where FOWL HQ was. That was beyond ridiculous. What if they never saw her again? What if he'd lost his chance? It was so cheesy to say that he thought they were linked, but it was true. She'd looked like he'd run her over with an 18 wheeler when he'd materialized earlier.

Damn it, stupid plane. He couldn't wait another seven hours to call her. Unfortunately, Launchpad was refusing to stop the Sunchaser. Dewey groaned, ignoring the "in-flight entertainment", which consisted of Darkwing Duck, despite the actual Darkwing Duck being present. He'd tuned both out when Darkwing had gone on about how the show hadn't gotten everything right and that his father had been much more heroic and handsome (because clearly, Darkwing took after his father there, according to him).

Gosalyn occasionally interjected and he tuned her out as well.

"Lad?" Scrooge asked and Dewey looked up at him. "Fiddling with your phone?"

"I want to talk to Webby. I want to ask her why she did this," he said, anguished. "And why she keeps running away from us."

"I should think the answer to that is obvious," Scrooge said. "She's afraid to stay put. All she's ever done since you've met her is run away."

"I know. And it's so frustrating," Dewey complained.

"You've seen her vulnerable, which is something FOWL likes to believe never happens," he responded. "You know there's more to her than her appearance, which means you threaten her way of life, and she can't tolerate that."

Dewey glanced down at the phone. "I don't even know her and I think I have feelings for her."

He looked back up. "Was that how you felt about Goldie?"

"Aye, it was…" Scrooge said. "Let's hope you have a better ending than Goldie and I did."

"I know I could make her happy. All I've seen her be is miserable," he protested. "Why would she go back to them when they're abusive, cruel, and manipulative? They've hurt her. I know they have."

"Don't repeat that in front of Mrs. Beakley when she wakes up," he warned. "She'll be in a delicate state for a while. If she finds out that they've been physically harming Webbigail, it may be too much for her to handle."

Dewey grimaced and gritted his teeth. "I want to help her. Why doesn't she see that?"

"Because she's terrified of what that help means," he responded. "She knows this isn't right, but if she accepts that, she'll have to accept everything else."

It was more than that he thought he had feelings for her. He thought he was falling for her, which was ridiculous considering how much she'd hit him. Then again, the blow to the head could've contributed to that. Or perhaps he remained convinced in her goodness.

"If I tell her how I feel…" Dewey began and Scrooge shook his head.

"Won't do any good," he replied. "She won't listen to reason. She has to come to the answer on her own."

He cast a glance over at Mrs. Beakley. "As much as I hate to say it, thinking that her grandmother is dead by her hand might force her to reassess the situation. I hope it doesn't come to pass; it's worth it to make her think that, though. She'll have to come face to face with how she really feels about FOWL and her options."

"What if she decides she's happy that her grandmother is dead?" he persisted.

"Do you have faith in her?" Scrooge asked. "Really think about that answer, lad. Do you believe she'll make the right choice?"

Dewey's first response was to say "no", but he stopped himself and thought about it. He looked up at his great-uncle.

"Do you, lad?" he asked softly.

"She'll make a decision," Dewey said finally. "And in my heart, I believe it'll be the right one. It's just my head that doesn't agree."

"We'll see if Webbigail makes the next decision with her head or her heart. It could be the difference between life and death for more than one person," Scrooge said and sighed.

At least one agent had vouched for her that she'd struck Agent 22 down. This agent was probably more afraid of Steelbeak than cared about Webby, but she'd take it. Black Heron congratulated her on doing something right, even if she'd let Dewey live, and Webby ignored the accolades and cheers that came her way. She sat on the plane and stared out the window. This ought to be the highlight of her nascent criminal career. She ought to be celebrating with them.

Instead, she wanted to curl into a ball and sob as she had in the cavern. She should have shot Dewey; she should have put bullets in that damn gun. Then there would be no more loose ends. She ought to be happy about that too.

Webby excused herself to huddle in the bathroom. With the partying going on around her, wine bottles being popped open and music blaring, no one could hear her cry. She locked the bathroom door just in case anyone got any bright ideas about intruding. She found, however, that once she'd started crying, she couldn't stop. Her shoulders shook with sobs and she tasted tears in her mouth. She'd come thisclose to killing Dewey and had in all likelihood murdered her grandmother.

It shouldn't bother her so much. This was what she'd trained for all her life.

She was going to sit here, let it all out, and then lock away her secret heart.

I'll destroy this useless heart. I'll fuck it up so it'll never beat again. Not just for me, but for anyone…

After all, she was a FOWL agent through and through. Today she'd proven that. FOWL owned her body and soul and she needed to accept that. She rocked back and forth in a vain attempt to console herself. FOWL owned her and she hadn't a friend in the world. Once Lena discovered what she'd done, she'd distance herself too (not that she could really call Lena a friend when she'd kidnapped her and they barely knew each other).

When she'd cried herself out, she composed herself and joined the party. She didn't partake in the drinking or the illegal substances that were going around. She didn't even glance around to see if they'd killed Magica and taken her staff. Instead, pretending that the rest of FOWL didn't exist, she opened up a book and tried to read.

It was going to be a long flight back to FOWL HQ.

Steelbeak called Webby into his office as soon as they reached FOWL HQ. He grinned at her and she wished she could feel something, some sense of accomplishment. Instead, she felt empty. To push away her emotions, including her horror at what she'd done, she'd forced herself to become numb. They were still partying in FOWL HQ because Agent 22 had been legendary.

"So you finally killed Agent 22," Steelbeak said. "I'm impressed."

"Thank you," she said automatically. She'd scrubbed at her face best as she could to conceal the tear tracks. Of her red eyes, she couldn't do as much. Steelbeak scrutinized her and then moved around from behind the desk to lay a hand on her shoulder. She watched him, wary.

"You're really my daughter," he said and then pulled her into a tight hug. She went rigid in his arms.

"Hey, hey," he said and patted her cheek. "Don't be like that. I'm proud of you. You're a chip off the old 'beak."

He frowned. "Is something bugging you?"

She shook her head. The last person she wanted to get into this with was Steelbeak. She had no one to confide in. By now, she should've been used to it. After all, this was to be her fate in life.

Her burner phone and Dewey's phone number were still in her pocket. Somehow, she'd forgotten to throw them out. She hadn't turned the phone back on since the mishap at Mount Vesuvius. Had Dewey called her? Or was he disgusted with her too? Her shoulders sank.

"I'm your father," Steelbeak said, holding her at arm's length. "You can tell me anything."

That was new. Again, she shook her head.

"Take some time off," he said and patted her on the shoulder. "Take a brief vacation. We'll see you back here in a week."

This was probably an attempt to keep Lena away from her more than true generosity, but she nodded anyway. He hugged her again (which wasn't warm or affectionate, just weird). Her grandmother's words reverberated in her mind. Steelbeak didn't really love her. He was manipulating her. The only person who might've loved her, who had admitted to it, was dead by her hands.

She was disgusting. The sheer amount of self-loathing she had was almost overwhelming. Steelbeak dismissed her and she walked out hearing her grandmother in her mind. At least with her numbness, she couldn't feel the true extent of her self-hatred and misery. She felt an urge to cry surfacing again and swallowed it back. Crying was for the weak. She ought to embrace what she'd done.

Dewey hated her now. How could he not? And that would've stung more if she could feel it.

Once she was alone in her room, she turned the phone back on. To her surprise, there were voicemails left, all from Dewey. He had *69ed her and left no less than five messages. As she stared, the phone vibrated and she looked at it like it was a live snake. Cautiously, she answered.

"Hello?"

"Webby!" Dewey exclaimed and his voice was like a jab to the gut. Her room was austere, containing a few books she'd smuggled in, her bed, her wardrobe, a desk, and a mirror. There was nothing personal about it-nothing personal was allowed. So she hid her charts and boards inside the desk's hidden drawer.

"Why are you calling me?" she asked dully. "I shot at you and I killed...I killed…"

Her throat closed up and she shook her head. She couldn't utter the words aloud. Balling her fists, she worked on calming her breathing. Why was Dewey calling her? Why had he left all those voicemails? She hadn't had a chance to listen to them but they couldn't be anything good. If anything, he would be condemning her for her actions.

"Did she die?" she burst out and then choked back a dry sob. She wasn't sure which answer she was hoping for. If Agent 22 was still alive, she'd be in trouble. If she wasn't, then her grandmother was her first official kill. Neither sat well with her.

"Are you okay?"

"Am I okay?" she asked and was surprised by the hysterical laughter that burned her throat. "Why are you asking me that? Why are you even talking to me, Dewey Duck? Haven't you learned your lesson by now?"

"If you didn't want to talk to me, you wouldn't have answered," he said implacably.

"You're not answering my questions," she snapped. There would've been more anger in it if she could feel it. To her surprise, she was gripping the phone tightly. The memory of Dewey on top of her brought warmth to her cheeks. If she'd been raised by her grandmother, she would have done so many things differently. She leaned up against her bed and sank to the floor. Her eyes were red and her head hurt from crying.

"Webs…" he said softly, imploringly. "You wanted to talk to me. You still want to talk to me. I know."

"What?" she said, feeling stupid. "Did you just call me 'Webs'?"

"Yeah," he said. "I thought maybe you could use a new nickname."

She hugged her knees with one arm, the other hand still holding the phone. What was she doing? What she ought to do was hang up and go on with her life. What was left of it, that was.

"Why did you leave me five voicemails?" she demanded. "And you still haven't told me why you're calling me."

"Did you really mean to kill your grandmother?"

The words fell heavily between them and she contemplated hanging up. In the end, she didn't. She stared ahead of her with that dull gaze and felt tears prick her eyes. So much for having cried herself out. Dewey wasn't calling because he wanted to talk to her. He wanted to yell at her. While she understood it, she was disappointed. Like everyone else, he only wanted her as far as what he could get out of her.

She felt like she'd been beaten and left on the ground only for someone to kick her in the ribs. She didn't answer for the longest 'd thought Dewey was different. Everyone was the same. How foolish of her to think otherwise.

Beneath her numb exterior, she felt certain that this would hurt all the more when she let herself feel it.

"Webs? Are you still there?"

"What are you doing?" she heard Huey demand. At least, she thought it was Huey. She hadn't had time to commit their voices to memory and figure out which voice went with which triplet.

"Nothing," Dewey lied.

"You're talking to her, aren't you?" Huey pressed.

"Nuh-uh."

"You really need to learn how to lie better," Louie scoffed. "Put her on speaker."

A fourth voice joined in, older and more distinguished. It had a Scottish brogue and although she'd never met the voice's owner, or, rather, she had so long ago she'd forgotten it, she knew who it was. Her insides went cold. Scrooge McDuck. He was Agent 22's partner in crime and the richest duck in the world. Her finger hovered over the "disconnect" icon.

"Webbigail, a word?" Scrooge said.

To her consternation, though she hadn't said anything to him in years, she blurted, "Mr. McDuck?"

"You poison your granny and you still call me that…" Scrooge mused. "Lads, I'll take it from here."

The boys protested and he overrode them. The line went silent for a while, but the call remained connected. Just when the waiting grew unbearable, Scrooge spoke again.

"Your grandmother never stopped looking for you. For ten years, she looked for you only for you to turn up on her doorstep. And you repay that by acting as FOWL's stooge."

Webby's lower beak quivered and she opened her mouth but didn't trust herself to speak without sobbing. She was weak. She was pathetic. In no way was she fit to be a FOWL agent, if this was her reaction to Agent 22's death.

"Home," her grandmother had said. "Come home."

"Did she die?" Webby's voice was thin and tremulous.

"What do you care?" he said bluntly. "You were aiming to kill her!"

"Is she dead?" she demanded in a breathless voice. She had to know.

"You betrayed her, Webbigail. She only wanted to bring you home. She loved you."

"Is she dead?" she repeated. She couldn't help but notice how Scrooge was using past tense. Her stomach jerked violently and she swallowed back bile. She hadn't eaten anything since she'd thrown up in the cave after poisoning her grandmother. She didn't trust herself to keep it down. Now her stomach threatened to dry heave again.

The line went dead and when she tried redialing, frantic, it went straight to voicemail. Hand shaking, she put the phone back down. Was that her answer? Had he disconnected on purpose to send her a message?

She pushed herself onto the bed and then lay there, on her stomach, face buried in the pillows. She glanced up, once, to hit play on her voicemails. Dewey's voice filled the room and she knew that if Scrooge had hung up on her, it would be the last time she'd ever hear his great-nephew again. She replayed the messages until the words lost all meaning and she was just lying in the dark, listening to her last hope vanishing.

"Blasted phone!" Scrooge snarled, looking back at the screen. Though it worked differently from his, as his was an old-style flip phone, he knew enough to hit the redial button. The call could not be completed at this time. Scrooge growled.

He snapped at an empty room, as he'd forced the triplets to remain behind and locked his office door. Webby had sounded broken on the other end. His stomach clenched remembering it. The blasted phone's timing could not have been worse.

He wasn't sure whether he would have told her the truth, but he would have told her something. And now the phone call wasn't going through. Their only means of communicating with her and it was mercurial, like FOWL itself. He hissed and his desk phone rang.

"Mr. McDuck?" Bentina said and Scrooge released a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. Mrs. Beakley sounded worn to the dregs and weak, but she was undoubtedly alive. Webby hadn't killed her. She might not have even intended to. The poison had certainly been slow acting enough for them to use a purgative in time.

"You should be resting," he reprimanded. He paused and then added, "I'm glad to hear you're all right, Bentina."

"Have you spoken to Webby?" she said and he realized this was the reason for her call. He wasn't offended. He wasn't even surprised.

"Aye," he said. "And then the phone cut out. She thinks you're dead, Bentina."

"You let her think that?" Mrs. Beakley snapped. "Why on earth did you do that? This is going to eat her alive!"

"I didn't have a chance to say more-as I said, the phone cut out," he said.

She sighed, aggravated. "Can you call her back?"

"It hasn't been going through," he said. "FOWL may be jamming the signal."

Mrs. Beakley cursed, which was both impressive and worrying because he could count on one hand with fingers left over how many times she'd cursed in front of him. With Webby's phone out of commission, they had lost their only way of speaking with her, a fact that was not lost on either of them. Webby might as well have been on the moon for all the good this was doing them. Not even the moon-they had eventually rescued Della from the moon. This was ten long years of radio silence.

"No tracking device, no phone number, the line is jammed…" Mrs. Beakley said, echoing his thoughts. "She's vanished off the face of the earth again."

"Not unless we construct a trap for them…" Scrooge mused and then halted. "That might be it. If we can construct a trap that FOWL can't refuse and that requires Webbigail's assistance...we might be able to lure her to us."

Mrs. Beakley stifled a yawn and he grimaced, feeling sorry for her. "I'll think about it while you get some sleep."

"If Webby calls, call me back immediately," she said. "I don't care if I'm sleeping. I'll wake myself up for her."

"Aye," he said and they said their goodbyes. He doubted Webby was capable of getting through that signal jammer any time soon. Of course, if she left FOWL HQ, if they let her leave, then that was another story. If they thought Agent 22 was dead, they might relax their guard. They probably reasoned that Scrooge wouldn't want Webby, as she wasn't his responsibility. Yes, the more he thought about it, the more likely it'd be that they'd let Webby off her leash, at least for the time being.

But how to get her here, back in Duckburg? How could you lure someone when you didn't know where they were or how to get in contact with them? Hmm. Well, he was the richest duck in the world. He had the resources on hand. He just needed to construct a decent plan.

"I won't help you," Lena growled as FOWL scientists poked and prodded at her. They didn't understand how magic worked and she had no desire to explain it to them. She'd wanted to be left alone. After being separated from her aunt, Lena had been living a relatively drama-free existence in Duckburg. Sure, things weren't perfect, but not having Magica as a literal shadow hanging over her had done wonders for Lena's sanity. Now FOWL was dredging up magic Lena hardly used as it reminded her of Magica.

"You're not going to have a choice," Black Heron informed her. Lena rolled her eyes. She was currently strapped to a chair in the middle of an empty warehouse room. Their words echoed off the rafters.

"There's always a choice and my answer is always going to be 'no'," Lena snapped. "I'm done with doing the work for evil people. I'm not your puppet."

Black Heron frowned, studying her. Lena glowered back. She was sick of being jerked around by villains who wanted to exploit her. She knew, from her brief conversation, that Webby was too. So why had Webby subjected her to his when they were in the same boat?

"What if I gave you a friend?" Heron suggested.

"I have friends. Their names are Huey, Dewey, and Louie," she growled.

"What about Webbigail?" Heron said, ignoring her. "You two have a great deal in common, I can see that already."

"Not really into being brainwashed, thanks but no thanks. Like I said, I've had enough of being manipulated. So find someone else to play with."

"We have your aunt in custody," Heron said, still ignoring her. She waved a hand dismissively. "It turns out that she's been quite interested in you even now. Something about you betraying her. Not sure-I wasn't paying complete attention. But she's looking forward to breaking your spirit."

Lena scrambled, trying to get out of the chair and only succeeding in falling backward. Her heart hammered between her ribs. She was so scared that her teeth chattered and she could barely breathe.

"Oh, do I have your attention now?" Heron asked.

"Aunt Magica's not interested in me anymore," she said, praying it was true. "It's been years since I betrayed her."

"And yet, like no time at all has passed," Magica said, approaching them. Lena's veins turned to ice.

"Hello, little Lena," Magica crooned. "It seems FOWL and I have a common enemy-Scrooge McDuck. And it seems that you're in the perfect place for me to use you, again. Only, this time, spare me your free will."

She reached out with her magic and Lena flinched, rolling around like a turtle on its back trying to get away from her. She crashed onto her side.

"What's going on?" a third voice said and though Lena recognized it, she winced again. Webby sounded hollow inside, like someone had sculpted out her emotions and left her a husk. She pushed herself back to her feet and saw that the other teen's eyes were bloodshot from crying. What the hell had they made Webby do?

"This doesn't concern you," Heron snapped. "I believe Steelbeak told you to take a vacation?"

"Let her go," Webby said, folding her arms across her chest. "You have Magica who will willingly help you. You don't need Lena."

"So I can kill her?" Heron asked and Webby's expression changed from stoicism to fear and anguish. Her beak trembled.

"Oh, I see," Heron said and then grinned wickedly. "You are upset over Agent 22's death, aren't you? It's killing you, isn't it?"

The older woman strode closer to Webby and scoffed. "You killed her by accident, didn't you? You were too feeble to-"

But Lena never knew what the woman was going to add because Webby punched her in between the eyes. Shocked and outraged, the woman reached for her, but Webby spun away. They traded blows so quickly that Lena had trouble following them. Magica stepped back, uninterested.

"Enjoying the entertainment, Aunt Magica?" Lena asked in a voice that only shook a little. Bully for her.

"Hmm, you know, the brat brings up a good point," Magica said. "You are extraneous. I could kill you and no one would even notice, would they?"

Magica gasped as Black Heron crashed into her. Both women fell over.

"Excuse me! I was threatening someone here!" Magica huffed. "How rude!"

Before Black Heron had a chance to recover, Webby was on her again and it seemed like this was a fight that had been building up for years. Neither female held back and Lena realized with a sense of dread that they were fighting to the death. She had to break this up, but how? With Heron distracted, Magica remained a threat. How could she distract her aunt too?

"You know, if Webby wins, your deal with FOWL might be null and void," Lena said. "You made the contract with her, right? Webby's out for blood."

"So I should-" Magica stopped as Black Heron went sailing over her head and flattened her to the cement floor. Webby was not messing around today. Holy crap.

Just to make sure they weren't going to move again, she hit them both in the head. That might've been overkill. With both women hitting the cement floor with a loud crack that sounded like it both hurt and possibly fractured someone's skull, Webby turned to Lena and undid her restraints.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have kidnapped you."

"You can make it up to me by taking me back to Duckburg," Lena said and then frowned. "Webby...what happened on Mount Vesuvius?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Webby murmured. Lena stood up, rubbing her wrists.

Lena knew better than to pry with an answer like that. Heaven knew she'd given enough of those responses to the boys over the years. Still...she studied Webby's face. It was drawn, her expression pained. Lena would've put a hand on her shoulder or hugged her, but she sensed they were both not much for being touched. Or touch starved.

If that was the case, then…

Lena braced herself to be attacked as she hugged Webby. Webby froze, but didn't fight her. After a minute, she relaxed in her arms and then hugged her back. Her shoulders were shaking.

"Webby?" she murmured.

"I wish I had a home to come back to…" Webby whispered. A dry sob escaped her. "I wish FOWL wasn't my home."